Forgive Me
by Ridley C. James
Summary: John and Sam disagree on a hunt and Dean may pay the price.
1. Chapter 1

Forgive Me

By: Ridley C. James

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.

Author's notes: Okay, this was suppose to be just a little thank you for all the very kind and generous feedback from my story _Facing the Dark_. In fact, it is a requested flashback scene from that very work, so if you haven't read it, this might not make a lot of sense, because it's not really heavy in the story line area. Plot bunnies are dangerous by the way, and should only be used with the greatest of caution when offering up a review. With that said, here is my take on John Winchester and a little slice of the boys' past.

PS. Major owies ahead. I couldn't resist the temptation. I just consider it practice for all the things I will indulge in tomorrow.

Nineteen year-old Dean Winchester rolled his eyes heavenward, sighed loudly, and turned up the volume on the movie he was watching. He was sure the voices booming from the other room would have woken any other people attempting to sleep in the lodge, that was if there had _been_ any other people in the lodge, because they were sure as hell keeping him awake. So, it wasn't like _he_ was going to be disturbing anyone.

John Winchester was a big man, with an even bigger voice and Dean's younger brother, Sam, despite his quiet, aloof, manner at times, could hang in there with the old man like a pro. Dean figured it must have been hard-wired genetically.

The latest shouting match had started off like the others usually did. Sam and their dad had begun talking about the present hunt over dinner. Then, Sam had once again offered up his opinion on the research he'd been doing. John, of course shot him down, then picked apart every theory Sam had come up with. This resulted in Sam pouting and then John pointing out that Sam was pouting, and then the yelling ensued from there. It was a typical day in the Winchester world.

Dean could almost time the precise moment when Sam would burst out of the room and slam the door. The loud bang at the end of the hall had him grinning to himself. "Right on cue, little brother."

"He is fucking impossible!" Sam entered the room the two brothers had been sharing for the last several days, and practically threw himself down onto the bed opposite Dean. "He won't listen to anything I try to tell him."

Dean raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother. "You could try not yelling it. That might work."

The look his fifteen year-old brother shot him was not an unfamiliar one. "Don't start with me, Dean. I don't need it."

Dean turned back to the movie. What his brother needed was an attitude adjustment, but at the moment, Dean wasn't in the mood to offer one up. "I take it Dad is still not buying the idea of the vengeful spirit banshee thing you've come up with."

Sam sat up and glared at his brother. "Banshees have been known to seek revenge on a certain group of people, Dean. They can hunt a particular area because of the residue of tragedy that might have occurred there. When have you known a werewolf to limit it's kills to only men or to stake out such a small territory?"

Dean turned the TV off and faced his brother. "Sam, I trust your research." And he did. Sam was sharp. He'd been doing the ground work for their hunts since he was old enough to get a library card. "But Dad's been doing this longer. He has good instincts. Just let him do this thing his way, Sammie."

He couldn't understand why Sam still didn't get the fact that their father liked to be in charge, needed it, craved it. Apparently, it was a Marine thing, and something they were never going to change about the man, and besides he was their _dad. _"We can kill it, and then get out of this God-forsaken place."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with this place? I kind of like it here." At least they were out in the wilderness with fresh air and there wasn't not one sign of a run down motel or greasy truck stop.

Dean shook his head. Leave it to his brother to like Grizzly Adam's Inn. "For one, I'm tired of pork skins and beef jerky for dinner. For another, I'm tired of pork skins and beef jerky for breakfast." Dean waved his hand around the room. "And finally, I really don't like sleeping with all of Jack Hannah's pals staring at me."

Sam looked up at the stuffed and mounted animals adorning the walls around them. His brother did have a point. "This _is_ a hunting lodge, Dean."

"Well, _this _hunter, for one, is not feeling it."

"That's because we hunt out of necessity, not for pleasure or sport."

Dean shot his brother an amused glance. "You sounded just like this guy I know. Yeah, John Winchester."

Sam picked up the pillow from his bed and launched it at his brother. Dean barely ducked in time and before his kid brother could react, he found himself tackled and pinned by his amazingly quicker and stronger sibling. "You need to be working out more, Sammy, instead of reading all those books."

"It's Sam, and at least I know how to read." Sam grunted, expertly flipping his brother off him and off the other side of the bed.

Dean landed hard on the rough wooden floor and grimaced as his foot collided with the nightstand, causing the contents of said nightstand to scatter across the floor. This included a lamp which didn't fair too well from the fall.

"What the hell is going on in here?" John Winchester burst into the room at the sound of the crash, much like the way his youngest son had done moments earlier.

Dean looked up at his father from beside the bed, and tried to hide his amusement at the situation. "Sorry, Dad, I must have fallen asleep and fell out of bed." Okay, that would have been lame, even if Sam had said it, but it was the first thing that popped into his mind.

Sam was still sitting on the bed, with a mixture of fear and surprise playing across his young face. Their father had never been a physically violent man, but his mere presence could be enough to strike terror in the faint of heart, especially if he was pissed.

"Right," John looked skeptically at his oldest, who was gingerly pulling himself up from the floor, rubbing his right shoulder. He didn't miss the fact that Dean strategically placed himself in front of his younger brother. "You haven't fallen out of bed since you were like two."

"Must be the lumpy mattresses." Dean shrugged, sitting back onto the bed beside of Sam.

John continued to glare, but when neither one of them offered up another explanation he pointed at Sam. "I expect you two to clean up this mess, and then one of you will pay Mr. Hayes back for the lamp before we leave. Got it?"

Dean nodded. "Got it."

"Now if it's safe to leave you two idiots alone for a while, I need to run into town to lay my hands on some more silver, incase we need it tonight." John couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that his nearly grown sons could sometimes still act like five year-olds. At times, it was amusing, and then there were moments, like the present one, when he questioned his decision to 'spare the rod'.

"It'll be dark soon." Sam stood. "Will you be back in time?"

"We still have a few hours of daylight left. I'll be back before nightfall."

"Then I want to come with you." John looked surprised. "Why?" Hadn't Sam just a few minutes earlier declared him the most intolerable, obstinate person to walk the planet.

"Because I have some more research to do at the library. There's one more thing I want to check out."

John sighed. The boy was worse than a dog with a bone. "Sam, you're not going to find one damn thing about Werewolves on that microfiche."

"But I might find something else about what happened here before the men started disappearing." Sam knew there was a missing piece to the puzzle, whether his father wanted to admit it or not.

"You mean you're going to go waste your time." John rubbed at his tired eyes. "I'm telling you, son, for the last time, this is not a poltergeist or banshee. There's no signs of a haunting here."

"Yeah, well I hate to break it to you, Dad, but we haven't found one thing that would lead us to believe that there's a werewolf lurking about either. It hasn't stopped you from melting silver down left and right."

If someone would have told him three years earlier that his sweet, kind, beautiful son would turn into such a smart mouthed, pain in the ass, adolescent, John Winchester would have laughed at them. Or shot them. Maybe both. But here he was, in all his glory, and John was suddenly hit with the now familiar pain of longing for the days when soft spoken Sammy was dissuaded by a cross look. "I think you should stay here and help your brother."

"I got it covered on this end."

_Of course you do. He should have expected that. John had felt outnumbered for a very long time. "Are you sure you won't fall asleep and accidentally shoot yourself or something while we're gone, Ace?"_

Dean grinned. "I think I'm safe."

Sam shot his brother an appreciative glance and grabbed his backpack from the floor. Dean always came through for him. "I'll meet you downstairs, John."

John watched him go and then turned a heated gaze on Dean. "He's not five anymore, Dean."

Dean looked down at the floor for a moment, before crossing his arms over his chest and meeting his father's challenging stare. "He's not forty either."

"You got a problem with how I handle your brother?" John knew the answer to the question before he asked it. He and Dean had done this dance before and he also knew it wasn't Dean he was really angry at. Unfortunately, he was a perfect target.

"I just think you could cut him slack sometimes. He's put a lot of work into this hunt."

"I know that, but I'm still in charge of _this_ hunt. Of all hunts. Is that clear?" John had to be in charge, it was the only way he was sure he could keep what was left of his family safe.

An unguarded moment registered a look of hurt in his son's hazel eyes, and a familiar stab of guilt tore through John's heart. "Sorry, I kind of thought this whole hunting evil thing was a team effort."

But the horse had already left the gate. "Every team has a Captain, Dean, on this one, that would be me."

Dean shook his head, and stood up, stepping closer to his father. The man could be a cold bastard when he wanted to be. "Just stop treating Sam like shit, Dad. Mom wouldn't have liked it." _I don't like it._

It took all he had not to slap the condescending look off his son's face. How dare he talk to him about what Mary would or wouldn't have liked. He could feel himself inching ever so closer to that edge, the one his own old man had fallen from time and time again. "I'll take care of your brother how I see fit. He's my responsibility. _I'm_ his father, Dean."

"When it suits you." It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and the stinging backhand that followed was honestly more shocking than painful. _But Damn. _The truth did hurt.

He looked up at his father, his hand coming up to wipe at a small trickle of blood that had blossomed on his bottom lip. The look on the man's face would have been almost comical, if not so full of pain.

John was looking at his hand as if it weren't actually connected to his own body. Maybe that was it. Hey, spirits had been known to control a person's actions.

Dark eyes raised to meet Dean's still half-stunned gaze. "Dean…I'm…"

"What are you doing?" Neither of them had heard Sam come back into the room, but he quickly made his presence known as he shoved his way between them and stepped toe to toe with their dad. "What the hell did you do?"

"Sam." Dean grabbed the back of his brother's shirt and pulled him away from John. He was certain their father wouldn't hit Sam, but then, he'd never hit Dean either, except for a few spankings when he'd honestly really deserved it. "Drop it."

Sam looked at his brother as if he were just seeing him, or a part of him, for the first time. "What are you talking about? He hit you."

"Go to the truck, Sam." John raised his voice, angry at himself for losing control. "Now!"

His youngest son was looking at his brother with such concern that he almost felt sick. _What am I doing? _When Sam turned his gaze on him all that quickly disappeared and was replaced with anger and loathing. "I hate you."

Sam didn't give his father time to reply as he picked up the book he'd come back for, and stalked out of the room.

"He didn't mean that." Dean watched his brother go, wanting to go after him, but knowing that he wouldn't. He wasn't sure if the desire was born more from the need to comfort Sam, or seek that comfort for himself, but now wasn't a good time to deal with Sam's emotions, when his were so close to the surface. He couldn't exactly hold both of them together, now could he.

John shook his head and raked a hand through his dark hair. He could feel the coldness of his wedding band on his finger as it slid through the thick tangled waves. Why did Dean have to have eyes so much like Mary's. "I think maybe he did."

Dean let his tongue slide over the small cut on his lip. "Nah, I'm the one who has the lack of love right now, Dad. Trust me. Sam's just on a hormone rage."

The oldest Winchester laughed, despite himself. Dean could find the strangest, most inappropriate and perfect times to make a joke. God, he loved him for that. "You might want to work on that bob and weave thing I taught you when you were about six. Your reflexes are getting slow."

Dean smiled, the pain of the motion sending little spikes into his heart. "Yeah, I'll get Sam to give me some pointers."

"Dean…" John lifted his hand to rest it on his son's shoulder but then faltered when he caught the involuntary flinch.

"It's okay, Dad." Dean swallowed hard. "You better get going before Sam hotwires the truck and decides to take it on a joyride. You know how teenagers are these days."

"Yeah," John looked at him for a moment longer, memorizing every detail. He wanted it frozen in his mind, a snapshot he could berate himself with later. He filed it with all the other ones he had collected, Mary's burning corpse being on the top of that stack.

"Take a picture, man. It'll last longer."

The words threatened to bring his dinner back up, and Dean's typical cocky-ass grin didn't help. John nodded and turned away from his son. He started for the door, but stopped suddenly and faced Dean again. "I didn't forget that your birthday was yesterday, son. I promise we'll celebrate it right, as soon as this hunt is done."

"I'll save a place in my busy social calendar." Dean wouldn't have remembered it was his own birthday if Sam hadn't given him that stupid card and the necklace. He could feel the warmth of the silver pendant, that his brother had earnestly explained was for protection, beneath his shirt. "I wouldn't mind having that car we talked about, you know, if you're still looking for just the right gift." He grinned. "Nothing says love like four wheels, Dad."

"Right," John shook his head. "Chevy Impala, 67, I believe. I'll get right on it after I receive the substantial bounty on this werewolf we're going to take down tonight."

Dean could feel the familiar balance slowly start to return. "Hey, that's why we went into hunting. The gigs pay out the ass." If he could take the miserable look off his father's face then things would be alright.

John grinned, his first real smile of the night. "And here I thought it was for the pleasure and sport of it."

"Don't let Sam here you say that. He's gone all Wild Kingdom on us."

"I'll keep that in mind when he tries to sedate and tag me." John shook his head and listened to the sound of Dean's laughter as he closed the door behind him.

He leaned up against the wall and willed his heart to slow down. Okay, one son was squared away, although it had nothing to do with _his _parenting skills.

Lucky for him that Dean fought just as hard to keep his emotions under control, as his brother did to make his feelings known. That fact alone made him quite certain that the drive into town would unfortunately not be full of humorous quips and small talk.

"His birthday was yesterday."

"I'm aware."

"Was that little display your idea of one to grow on?"

Okay, so dark humor couldn't be ruled out. "Your brother and I had a disagreement, and we resolved it."

Sam glared at the oldest Winchester out of the corner of his eye. Dean should have decked his ass. If it had been anyone else, his brother would have. So what if their dad had been special ops, Dean was the best fighter Sam had seen, and he had youth on his side. "A disagreement about the hunt?"

"No."

Of course not. Dean followed orders. There wasn't anything to disagree about. John was in charge. "Then what? Was he breathing too loud? Walking the wrong way? Maybe, he wasn't falling at your feet correctly?"

John had a pounding ache blossoming behind his eyes. His blood pressure had to be out the roof, and the little vein on the side of head was throbbing like it use to when he and his old man would argue. How exactly could he put an end to this without beating Sam unconscious. "He was pissed about how I was treating you." Guilt should suffice.

Sam looked at his father this time. Dean had sided with him, against his hero. Dean had gotten hurt trying to take up for him. Damn John Winchester. "You should have remembered his birthday."

Okay, guilt worked both ways. "I know." John reached out and turned the radio up, some hard rock, head banging song blaring out of the system. He and Sam needed Dean as a buffer, even if the music was only a reminder of him.

It must have worked because the youngest Winchester didn't speak another word until they were parked in front of the drug store in Keller's Bluff and Sam was out of the truck.

"Meet me back here in forty-five minutes. I'm going to the jewelers and then to see an old friend."

Sam rolled his eyes. To be such a prick, John Winchester had countless friends scattered through out the United States. It was a running joke between he and his brother that if they ever did arrive in a town with a population of one, then they'd be guaranteed that John would have known the guy. Probably even have saved his life too. "I'll be at the library."

"Forty-five minutes, Sammy." John tapped his watch. "Don't make me come looking for you."

"Or what? You're going to hit me?" Sam sneered. "No wait, that was Dean."

John took a deep breath and tried to count to ten as he watched the alien form walk away. He really hadn't remembered Dean being such a punk at Sam's age, but then again, Sam was just a little more like his old man than his brother was.

Mary would have laughed her ass off at that ironic twist of fate. He could almost hear her sweet voice. "Your mother tried to warn me when I told her we wanted as many kids as possible. She said the more we had, the more likely that one of them would turn out to be just like you, Johnnie."

John stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and raised his eyes heavenward. "Laugh it up, baby. Mom was right on the money."

Chapter 2-Coming Soon


	2. Chapter 2

Forgive Me

By: Ridley C. James

Rating: T

Chapter 2

Dean had been slightly relieved when his family had finally gone. He loved his father and brother, but there was only so much of their arguing that he could take. Sometimes he got tired of playing the peacekeeper.

Things hadn't always been like they were now. But the last couple of months had suddenly begun to overshadow the years of happiness that they'd had. At least, _he'd _been happy. He was beginning to wonder if things had been the same for his little brother.

After their mom had died, there was a time when Dean was in a very dark place. He felt lost and scared, and his only remaining parent wasn't much more than a shadow. For a long time he expected his mom to come back. Death wasn't a concept that many five year-olds could grasp. It didn't seem permanent. But death was very permanent.

Despite the hopelessness, Dean remembered what his family had once been like, what John had been like and it gave him something to hold on to. It wasn't like he could grasp mental detailed, picture-like memories, but he still had the feelings. That was something.

_Something more than Sammy had. _

A sudden sense of claustrophobia had Dean needing to get out of their room. He grabbed his jacket and walkman and headed downstairs.

He had to admit that the old lodge was something as he made his way past the rough logs that comprised the walls and onto the loft-like opening that led to the spiral staircase.

The steps were like huge boulders artistically grafted together. It gave the illusion of hiking down a mountain side, and Dean had to admire the imagination and craftsmanship that had gone into it. Once at the bottom, the room opened up to a huge sitting area, with a fireplace as big as most of the motel rooms he'd grown up in.

Overstuffed couches in varying plaids and leathers were scattered around the room and the testosterone was almost made palpable by the guns and trophies adorning the dark paneled walls.

Dean chose a black leather recliner away from the roaring fire and by the biggest bay window he'd ever seen and sat down. The view of the surrounding forest was magnificent, if you were into the whole nature thing, and he imagined that in the peak of hunting season this old lodge would be bustling with enthusiasts.

He pushed back on the chair bringing the foot rest up and slipped his walkman on. Ah, Zeplin. The 'soothing' music quickly lulled him into a relaxed state, and he was so focused on watching a large bird, that he assumed was an eagle, in the distance, that he missed the fact that someone was watching him.

Amos Hayes had seen the other two men drive away earlier. John Winchester had stopped to talk with him for a moment, asking questions about a jewelers shop in the small town, not far from the lodge.

It wasn't unusual for families to stop by in the off season, but Amos had yet to see the men do very much, except venture out into the forest with strange equipment.

Perhaps they were poaching, though he'd yet to see any game brought in. There had been some reporters show up after the last boy was found on the ridge, but they didn't stay at the lodge, choosing the hotel in town instead; and besides, the two boys were too young to be with any newspaper.

No, something was strange about the trio, but that didn't really concern him. Whatever it was that brought the Winchester's to the Piney Knob wasn't important. What was important was that Jenny would be saved again. Amos would make sure of that, and John Winchester had delivered her salvation right to him.

Sam rubbed at his eyes and looked down at his watch. He still had twenty minutes, and if he really needed to he could squeeze in an extra five. Pissing his dad off was a fringe benefit these days. It didn't matter what he did, John was never satisfied, so he figured he might as well give him something to really be disappointed in.

He refused to be like his older brother and do everything possible to please the man, no way. John had brought this on himself. It was time the man was taken down a notch or two and Sam was going to be the one to do it.

There was no way that a werewolf had killed those men. For one, there was a pattern to the slayings. Every picture that Sam had turned up of the victims was similar. Males, all ranging in ages from 18 to 25. They were all nice looking and athletic. All of them were Caucasian. The last time he'd checked werewolves didn't differentiate between light and dark meat, and they could give a damn about what their meals looked like. Vampires were more selective about things like that, but this didn't seem anything like the undead either.

He flipped through another slide and sighed. If he were honest with himself, poltergeists and vengeful spirits weren't usually this specific either. But in his own defense they would target certain groups sometimes, almost like a serial killer, and they would haunt a certain area. Maybe that was it. He had missed something about the surrounding forest.

Unfortunately, he'd researched the whole vicinity around the Piney Knob, but nothing out of the ordinary had seemed to happen there. No massacres, no disturbed burial grounds, and no scenes of horrible accidents or mishaps. It had been virgin and untouched for centuries. The only inhabitants that had a reason to be pissed at anyone were the animals, and Sam wasn't about to propose to his father that Bambi was behind the killings. Dean would definitely get a kick out of that.

No, it wasn't the land around the Piney Knob, but maybe it had something to do with Keller's Bluff. He went back to the computer archive and reentered his query.

The killings had begun roughly five years earlier and had grown in intensity through out the time sense. This past year, three men had gone missing, and had later been discovered beaten and slashed beyond recognition. The weapon used had been similar to a knife, but not distinguishable enough for the police to get a lock on it's exact type.

That's where John had picked up on the werewolf thread. Claws could mimic a knife wound, and the severe beating that the bodies took were also reminiscent of the Lupine.

Each victim had been missing his heart. The organs hadn't been found. His dad had pointed out on several occasions that spirits and poltergeists had no taste for human flesh, nor did they usually collect trophies, like serial killers did.

Something about the word struck a chord with Sam. Twice that very thought had popped into his head. Everything about this case was beginning to point to something more sociopathic than supernatural. He was just about to call it quits, when his screen was filled with an article he hadn't come across before.

_Local Teen Girl Goes Missing _

Sam scanned the story, almost dismissing it when he found reference to another article where the girl had been found alive, living with her boyfriend in the neighboring state of California. But something snagged his attention. The girl's name. He'd seen it before.

Jenny Hayes.

He went back to the local newspaper on microfiche and searched. Sure enough, Jenny Hayes had died almost a year to the date of the article about her going missing. Her boyfriend had murdered her in a domestic violence situation. Sam had seen it earlier, but had dismissed it when he saw that she was killed over a thousand miles away.

_Hayes. _

He squeezed his eyes shut trying to will his thought process to speed up. Why did _that_ sound familiar?

Then it hit him. He backtracked to the original article. Jenny was the daughter of local business owner, Amos Hayes.

Amos owned the Piney Knob.

"Oh God."

"You should have thought about calling on him, before you made me walk all the way over here to get you." John Winchester stood in the doorway of the small research area of the Keller's Bluff library, arms folded over his muscular chest and a look of pure anger in his dark eyes. "I doubt if even he can help you now, son."

The stricken gaze on his youngest son's pale face had him forgetting about his frustration and crossing the room in two large strides. He knelt in front of the kid. "Sammy, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"It's not a poltergeist or spirit, Dad."

Well, John could have told him that. "Sam…"

"It's not a werewolf either." Sam pointed to the article. "It's not something supernatural at all. It's a serial killer."

"What?" John looked from his son to the screen. The name practically leaped from the text. "Amos?"

"His daughter was murdered by her boyfriend. How much you want to bet that he was a dead ringer for the victims, and Dean matches the profile?"

John swallowed hard, trying to process what his son was saying and what he was reading. He could understand a parent's rage and grief at losing their child, but would it be enough to drive one to murder. To murder over and over again.

"Son, you don't know that it's Amos. He…"

Sam shook his head in frustration. His father refused to let him be right about anything, even when the evidence was glaring him in the face. At the moment, though, he didn't give a shit about what his father thought. His brother was his only motivation. "All I know is that _he's_ alone with Dean. Are you willing to risk him because of your disappointment in me."

_Disappointment? That needed to be a conversation sometime in the future, but right now, something was telling him that Sam was exactly right about one thing. "Let's go get your brother."_

Dean had almost drifted off to sleep when a hand on his shoulder practically had him jumping out of the chair.

"Didn't mean to startle you."

The young hunter hit the power button on his Walkman and slid the earphones from his head. The owner of the lodge was standing next to his chair. The man reminded him of Paul Bunyan in both size and in the way he dressed. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

He'd spoken briefly with Amos Hayes on the day that they had checked in, and again when he and Sam had asked about renting a couple of all-terrain vehicles. He seemed nice enough, if not a bit long winded, but Dean didn't mind having some company. Especially, if said company wasn't pissed off or bratty.

Amos smiled and pointed to Dean's Walkman. "It's a wonder you kids don't go deaf before you all turn thirty wearing those finagled things around all the time."

Dean looked up at the man and shrugged. "A risk I'm willing to take." He noticed the man was holding two beers and a look of puzzlement crossed his features.

Amos' smile widened at the questioning look. "Your kid brother told me you had a birthday yesterday. I know it wasn't the _big_ one, but back in my day if you were old enough to vote and fight in the war, you were old enough to drink."

Dean liked this man. "Thanks." He took the offered bottle and glanced around quickly, just to be sure that John Winchester wasn't lurking about. "My old man is a stickler for rules."

Hayes took the seat across from his. "I can understand that. I was an Army man myself. Your daddy told me he was in the Corp."

Dean took a drink of the cold beer and nodded. "Yeah. He's a Jar Head, through and through."

"Parents have to be careful these days. I'm sure he's only as tough as he has to be."

Dean had a feeling that the man had been privy to several of his family's 'disagreements' during their stay at Piney Knob. Maybe the walls weren't as thick as they seemed. "Yeah, kids are a pain."

Amos tipped his beer towards Dean at that statement. "They'll break your heart."

"Do you have any?" Dean took another long swallow. The beer wasn't his first, but it had been a far and few between delicacy, one he intended on enjoying.

"Kids?" Amos looked out the window at the slowly setting sun. "Yeah, I do. I have a daughter. Jenny."

"Sometimes I think my dad wishes he'd have had girls. At least one." Especially considering what a pain in the ass Sam had been lately.

Cloudy blue eyes turned back to stare at him. "No, he's lucky. Girls grow up and get taken away from you."

Dean turned the beer up again before nodding. "I never really thought about that."

"I'm sure you didn't." Amos shifted in his seat and leaned forward slightly. "I bet you've broken a lot of father's hearts. Haven't you?"

"You mean girls' hearts?" Dean blinked, and rubbed at his eyes. Amos suddenly looked a little fuzzy around the edges.

"Yeah, a handsome kid like yourself. I've seen you swaggering about around here like a buck in mating season. I bet you've destroyed lots of families by bedding yourself quite a few innocent young things."

Dean suddenly got the feeling that the conversation had shifted in a direction he wasn't willing to go, cold beer or not. He sat the bottle down on a table beside him and forced a smile. "I don't really have time for a lot of dating, so trust me, your daughter's virtue is quite safe around me."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that, Joseph. I'm going to protect my girl."

"My name's Dean." Dean picked up his jacket and started to stand when a sudden wave of dizziness rushed over him, causing him to falter.

"The names are all different, but your kind is all the same." Amos stood and reached out a hand to steady the boy.

Dean pulled away from him and nearly stumbled into a tall floor lamp by the recliner. "I better go upstairs." His stomach lurched and a wave of heat traveled up from his feet, causing beads of sweat to pop up on his forehead.

Dean couldn't understand how just one beer could have effected him so quickly. It was true that he was never one to be a heavy drinker, even with the crowd he hang out with some in high school, but he could handle more than what he'd just consumed, unless….

His confused hazel eyes lifted to look at Amos, who smiled. "You drugged me."

"It's not deadly, but it is fast." The man continued to smile. "An old man has to take any advantage he can get, boy. We fathers don't stand a chance against the power you young ones wield, Joseph."

The pieces were quickly falling into place in his mind, despite the fog trying to settle over his brain. This little twist blew the hell out of Sam's theory about the poltergeist, and although Amos Hayes was a big man, with lots of teeth, he kind of doubted he could morph into anything except for a psychotic loon. "My family will be back anytime now."

Amos laughed. "Fathers can't always protect their children no matter how badly that they might want to."

Great, John had warned him that one day some pretty girl's daddy was going to take a severe disliking to him, but he had at least hoped that he would have done something fun enough to incur the wrath. Dean hadn't even met Jenny, let a lone touched her.

"I can't let you go on hurting my girl. She needs to be here with me."

Dean felt his hand brush up against the lamp that he'd bumped into earlier and he decided in his condition his only chance was a surprise attack. He clasped the long pole base in his hand and swung it around with all the force his sluggish muscles could manage.

Unfortunately, Amos' reflexes were finely tuned, and he blocked the move, receiving a glancing blow at best. Still, he cradled his arm and cursed as the lamp crashed to the floor and the bulb shattered. .

Dean used the opportunity to make a run for it, but was stunned when he was caught and taken down by a flying tackle. He felt something in his side give way as he impacted with the cold, hard floor and Hayes' 250 pound plus frame crashed heavily on top of him. He now knew what those cute little baby seals that he and Sam had watched on the Discovery channel felt like when the big bad walruses got a hold of them.

Amos didn't give him a chance to recover as he grabbed his head with both hands and slammed it against the floor once, twice, and then a third time for good measure. Dean felt as if his skull was going to explode and he fought to stay conscious. He had to stay conscious if he was going to make it out of this.

He tried to lift his useless arms to defend himself as the man delivered blow after blow to his face and body. "You will pay for what you've done to my daughter." The man yelled, as one final fist glanced off the side of Dean's skull, sending a multitude of bright lights scattering across his field of vision before everything went black. "Tonight, you'll be the one to lose _your _heart."

Chapter 3 coming soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Forgive Me

By: Ridley C. James

Chapter 3

All disclaimers apply. I still don't own them.

Notes: Thanks for the reviews everyone. They are such great motivation. Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving.

Rating: T- There are some disturbing images of violence in this chapter, although not graphically described. I've tried to make them secondary to what the characters are 'feeling'. Be warned.

"Dean!"

Much to his father's dismay Sam had jumped from the truck before it had even come to a complete stop and had taken off in a dead run for the Piney Knob Lodge. The boy was in a bad habit of letting his feelings get the best of the sharp intellect he was blessed with. It was going to get him killed one day.

"Sam! Wait, damn it." John knew he was wasting his breath. His hardheaded son wasn't going to heed any caution, not if his brother was in danger. He grabbed his shotgun and a 9mm from behind the seat and took off after him. So much for the brilliant plan that they had discussed on the way over. Well, he'd done most of the talking, but he'd assumed Sam was listening. Maybe that was his first mistake. Sam didn't listen to him.

Only one thought played itself over and over again in Sam's head as he rushed up the plank stairs that led to the entrance of the lodge. He'd turned it over and over in his mind like a mantra on his way back to the Piney Knob, drowning out his father's droning voice and passing the agonizing minutes until he could get to Dean. _Please, God, please let me be wrong. __Please let Dad be right. Please let me be wrong._

Dean would never take a werewolf on without back up. So, if John was right, his big brother would be upstairs waiting for them. Then, they'd go kick the evil thing's ass together and get the hell out of this God-forsaken place.

However, all hopes of that faded as Sam entered the large sitting room of the hunting lodge. His heart began to race faster, and it was amazing it didn't pound through his chest wall, considering the pace at which it had already been thundering against his sternum. One couch was overturned, and a lamp was lying discarded on the floor, it's bulb shattered and glittering on the wooden surface.

Sam fought down a surge of panic as he caught sight of a familiar jacket and smashed Walkman among the melee. He could not lose it. Not yet. _Keep it together, Sammy. _

He bent down to pick up the destroyed pieces of his brother's beloved cassette player and something caught his eye. A puddle of thick red fluid stained the floor a few feet from him. It glistened in the firelight and more splotches of the substance dotted the floor and the stone mantle. Sam felt the bile rise to the back of his throat. Okay he was going to lose it.

The fifteen year-old had seen lots of blood and gore in his short life, but it was rarely associated to something he was so connected to. His brother had been hurt before on hunts, so had he, but this was different. This time Dean had been alone, and Sam couldn't help but to feel as if he had let his brother down.

"Dean!" His father's voice echoed loudly in the large room, causing Sam to jump, his thoughts tumbling back into the present moment. "Dean!"

Sam turned frightened eyes to his father. "He's not here. Hayes has him." Sam wasn't quite sure how he knew for certain that his brother was no where in the massive lodge, but he did.

John's trained gaze took in the scene, knowing his son would have put up one hell of a fight.

"Dean's hurt." Sam pointed to the blood as he slowly stood. "We've got to find him, Dad."

John nodded and handed his son the 9mm. "We will, son."

Sam's eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he began to feel just like the little kid he struggled so hard not to be. He wanted his brother. He wanted Dean to rush right in and make it all right, to tackle the monster in the closet, to turn the lights on and make the nightmare disappear. "It's all our fault." _It's all _your_ fault. _" We shouldn't have left him alone."

John stepped forward and grabbed Sam by the shoulder. "Listen to me, Sam. Losing it isn't going to help your brother. All the victims were killed in the forest. You researched this whole area. You know where the bodies were found. This guy will stick to his pattern."

Sam wiped the back of his arm across his eyes, and shook his head. "He's already broken his pattern. The men were first attacked in the woods. What if he continues to deviate?"

Didn't his dad realize that the man had to be desperate to take Dean from the Lodge. His kills had been growing in number and frequency. Sam had studied serial killers in some of their research. They were dealing with a loose cannon.

"He'll want to keep as much to the routine as possible. You're the one always telling me that there are no coincidences, Sam. Logic is your friend, right?"

Sam raked a hand through his hair and tried to pull his thoughts together through the overwhelming emotion of fear for his brother. "Most of the victims were discovered near or around the gorge, where you and Dean set up the video camera when we first arrived. There were a few found at the bluff, not too far from there."

John nodded. "We'll split up then. You go to the bluff and I'll go to the gorge. If you find anything fire a round into the air. We'll get this bastard, Sammy, and we'll get your brother back." John looked at the teen, and tried not to think of countless times that he'd seen fear in those dark eyes. _My God, what would Mary think of him. _" He'll be okay. I promise."

As Sam ran quickly through the ever darkening woods around him, thankful for the sparse light the full moon above him was providing, he thought about his father's promise. He'd heard so many of them from John Winchester before. Most of them, the man had managed to keep. But there were those, that seemed to get swept under the rug, and that's what worried him. The ones about a real home, and a permanent school, and a break from all the hunting. The important ones always seemed to get broken.

Dean was the most important thing Sam had. Could John Winchester really be trusted with that? "You better not let me down this time, Dad."

He'd made it within ten feet of the opening into the gorge when he heard it. It sounded muffled, but it was unmistakable. "Dean."

Dean cried out in pain again, nearly choking on the dirt-covered, musty rag tied roughly across his mouth as Hayes drove the knife into his shoulder again. He'd come to on the cold ground only moments before to find himself trussed up like a roped calf, and the lunatic Hayes standing over him like some monster out of one of Sam's nightmares.

At first, his scrambled thoughts had betrayed him and he had looked around desperately for his father or Sam. If he were in trouble, then his family had to be around somewhere, but then the insane old coot had stabbed him and it all came back in a white, hot, clarity.

He was alone.

The painful realization was driven home again as Hayes stabbed him once more. Bright lights exploded behind Dean's eyes and he thought he might be sick or pass out again. Maybe both.

Amos began mumbling something about Jenny and how he, Dean, had defiled her and taken her away. None of it was making much since in his drugged state, but the blinding agony was taking care of pushing the last vestiges of whatever Hayes had used on him out of his system. One thought rang out with clarity.

He was going to die, and with that thought his mind went to Sam.

He prayed that his dad would be the one to find the body. He didn't want his brother to see what Hayes was going to do. Dean didn't want to be the cause of any more trauma that his brother might suffer. His whole life had been dedicated to protecting Sam from as much shit as possible in their totally fucked up lives and now he was going to deliver the worst blow of all.

Not only was he going to end up sliced and diced like some Thanksgiving turkey, he was going to do the unthinkable. Dean was going to leave Sam alone with their Dad. Alone to be drug on every hunt their dad deemed necessary on his quest to avenge their mother. Fucking John 'Don Quixote' Winchester wouldn't be satisfied until he'd bested everything evil he could find.

His line of thinking abruptly ended and he jerked in agony as Hayes wrenched the knife from his body and brought it down again, lower on his chest this time. "You will not hurt my girl. You here me. I will send you to hell first."

People survived worse, right. He'd read stories of victims who'd been stabbed mind staggering times by their crazed spouses and lived to go on the Oprah show. _Right?_

He was tough, he could do this. He needed to survive this more than Amos wanted to kill him, of that he was sure. It was like the whole fox and rabbit thing. The clever fox would never catch the rabbit, because he was merely after his dinner. The rabbit was running for his life. Dean would be damned if he'd leave Sam without a fight. This was about two lives

Sam fired the gun into the air and then brought it down to level at Hayes' head.

_Sam. _Where the hell was John?

The man was knelt on the ground over Dean's body, his back to the youngest Winchester. He froze as the sound of the blast echoed around them, but didn't turn or move from his prey.

"Get away from him." Sam's voice shook only slightly as adrenaline pumped through his veins, pushing away any reservations he had about killing the thing hurting his brother.

"Get up!" To Sam, Hayes was exactly that, a thing. And Sam had hunted and killed things before. It was true he'd never killed a human, but he'd destroyed _things _for much less than what this monster had inflicted on Dean. "I said, get the hell away from my brother."

Amos did as the boy said, roughly jerking the knife from Dean as he went. The young man cried out through the gag again and curled in on himself, protectively.

Hayes turned and slowly lifted his hands in the air, the red-stained knife standing out in the moonlight. "Are you going to kill me, boy?"

Sam's eyes immediately went to the blood staining the man's hands and his shirt, and the drops of it, sliding off the blade. His brother's blood. It was all he could see. His hand shook slightly, as a moan came from the body lying at Hayes' feet. _Yes. Yes, I am._

The words echoed painfully in his head before they left his mouth, as if he were trying them out just to be sure. But there never really was any doubt. From the time he'd heard his brother's pain-filled scream, he'd known that Amos wasn't getting out of this alive. Sam wanted to kill the man. "You bet your sorry ass I am."

Dean watched as if in a dream, helpless to do anything as his baby brother slowly squeezed the trigger. He closed his eyes. Sam should be shooting the winning hoop at his high school basketball game, or slamming one to the fence to score the winning homerun. He should not be about to shoot some sociopath, who'd kidnapped and fucked up his big brother. So much for protecting him. _I'm sorry, Sammy. _

The deafening shot that erupted in the night around them came from behind Dean. He forced his eyes open in time to see Amos Hayes' body be lifted off the ground by the force of the close range shotgun blast and watched as the man landed in an unmoving heap at least ten feet away from him.

"Sam!" John Winchester stepped into the clearing, and motioned for his son to lower his weapon. "Put the gun down, son. It's over." John didn't even bother with a look at his kill as he knelt by Dean.

He quickly pulled the gag away from his son's mouth and began working on the ropes that bound his bleeding wrists. Damn it, he was a mess.

Dean couldn't help the hiss of pain as his father removed the ropes from around his hands and the blood rushed back into them. Funny that they seemed to hurt more than the stab wounds he knew were scattered around his chest. He needed to suck it up. John didn't need him crying like a baby.

When Sam didn't appear at his side John turned his gaze back to his youngest son, trying to block out the small whimpers of pain coming from Dean. Sam had still yet to move. "Samuel John Winchester, put that gun down!" John's hands were shaking now that the reality of the situation was setting in, and he didn't have time to coddle Sam.

Dean swallowed hard and turned his gaze to his brother. Sam was still looking at the spot that Amos had been standing. He was pale, and Dean could make out the tears silently falling from his eyes as their luminescent trail down his face was reflected in the moonlight.

"Sammy, it's okay." His weak voice had the effect that John's had lacked, and Sam lowered the gun, moving robotically to his brother's side.

"Dean." Sam dropped to his knees, the gun sliding out of his hand and onto the ground. His gaze took in the damage to his brother, his eyes watering with the disbelief of it all.

The knife Hayes had used had torn large gashes into his brother's shoulder and chest area, and he was also bleeding from a large wound just below his hairline, not to mention the cuts and bruises on his face and hands. "Oh, God."

"Sammy, I'm okay." Dean knew it was a lie, but he'd never seen the look that was on his brother's face. He was terrified, and at that moment Dean would have said anything to make it better.

This was a hundred times worse than the time that he'd let a three year-old Sam fall from their make shift tree house and Sam had cried for what seemed like a whole hour. Nothing he had done then could make it better. Dean had given up on trying to take the pain away after the first twenty minutes, instead joining his little brother in his misery. That's how John had found them. Clinging to each other, bawling their eyes out.

John had finished untying Dean's feet and now moved his hands to his son's face. "Dean?" He roughly grasped his jaw, forcing his injured son's gaze from Sam, and looked into his oldest's eyes. They were glassy and he was sure the kid was in shock. They'd be in trouble once he started to hurt. "How you doing?"

Dean looked at his father, and tried to smile. "I hate to tell you this, Dad, but it wasn't a werewolf."

John bit his lip to keep from smiling. He ran his hand gently over Dean's bruised face and sighed. "Between you and your brother, I'm going to die of a heart attack before anything Evil catches up with me."

"We need to get him to hospital." Sam had seemed to snap out of it some and was busy shrugging out of his light jacket. He handed it to his dad who quickly pressed the material to the worst of the bleeding wounds. "He's losing a lot of blood."

"_He's _right here," Dean weakly lifted his arm and waved it in Sam's direction.

Sam didn't take his eyes from their father, but caught his brother's hand and closed both of his around it. "Stay still, Dean."

Dean arched an eyebrow, amused at the turn of events, despite the dire situation. Did Sam really just tell him what to do? "What?"

"Stay quiet." John said, taking another look at Dean. He was starting to shiver. "We can't go to the hospital, Sam."

"What?" Sam looked at his father as if he were now the crazy psychopath. "What are you talking about? We've got to! He's going to bleed to death."

"Sam, if we go to the hospital, there's going to be questions we can't answer. Do you realize that I just killed a man. Even if I was justified, I'll be questioned and detained." Dean couldn't help the gasp of pain as his father pressed harder on his bleeding wounds than Dean really thought necessary.

"Sam, I'm wanted for things, you know that." John wasn't thinking of himself. If he was put behind bars, what would happen to the boys. "They'll put me in jail, and you in foster care. We'll never find the thing that killed your mother."

"I don't care!" Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. His brother was dying and John was worried about the hunt. "We're going."

_Foster care. _Two words that struck terror in Dean's heart. His father had first told him of what could happen to both he and Sam when he was seven, and he'd accidentally locked himself out of the hotel room, with a two year-old crying Sam still on the inside. The manager had to call John while he was on a hunt, and Dean couldn't sit down for what seemed like a week.

The spanking was no where near as painful as the picture John painted about the people who would come and take Dean and Sam away from their daddy. And then the unthinkable would happen. Dean and Sam would be separated and given to other families. There was no way he'd risk his brother going into the system.

"Sam," the pain-filled voice brought Sam's attention quickly back to Dean, "Dad's right. I'll be okay. We can't risk the heat."

"Dean, are you insane?" It must have been the blood loss. "Have you noticed the huge fucking holes in your chest?"

Dean said nothing, but his eyes implored his brother just to let it go. It was in that moment that Sam realized that his brother might quite possible do _anything_ that their father asked of them, including bleeding to death in the middle of nowhere. He'd be damned if he let that happen. "I'm taking you to the hospital, with or without his help. He may not give a shit if you die or not, but I do."

John's hands were wrapped in his youngest son's shirt before he could even register that he was moving. He drug Sam's face close to his and shook him hard. "Don't you ever say that, Samuel! Ever!"

"Dad!" Dean tried to raise up, but a sudden blinding pain had him grabbing his side and falling back to the ground. "Let…him…go," he managed to get out between panting breaths.

"Dean?" Sam recovered from the shock of his dad grabbing him and pried the bigger man's hands from his shirt, scrambling back to his brother's side. "Dean what's wrong?"

"I…can't…breathe." Sam shot a panicked look in their father's direction and tried to help his brother.

Dean felt as if every bit of the oxygen in his body was being squeezed out, and his chest was on fire. He didn't want to cry, but damn it hurt.

"It's okay, Dean." Sam tried to calm his brother down, running his hand over his short hair. "Take it easy." He looked back at his father. "Dad, please."

John couldn't believe he hadn't even thought beyond the injuries that they could see. He cursed himself for letting his emotions get the best of his common sense and quickly lifted Dean's shirt up.

Damn it all to hell. Vivid bruises of differing shades of purple were splashed across his son's right side and he didn't even have to touch him to know he had some busted ribs.

"Listen to me, Ace. You can breath, it just feels like you can't right now because of your ribs." John pulled his son's shirt back down. "Just take it easy."

Dean rolled his eyes and squeezed Sam's hand harder. Did his dad just tell him to calm down. He was bleeding all over the fucking ground and now he couldn't breathe. Maybe he should have decked him when he'd had the perfect opportunity. Why did he have to love the stupid jerk so damn much?

"Can we take him to the hospital now? Please?" The anger had faded from Sam's face and John almost found himself preferring it over the sheer helplessness that was reflected in his dark eyes now. "Please, Dad. You promised."

There were promises, and then there were _promises. _He'd never been good at keeping the hard ones. Ones that parents shouldn't make if they weren't damn sure that they could deliver on them.

John momentarily took his gaze from the road to look at his sons.

Sam was holding Dean, trying to keep him propped up to ease his breathing, while attempting to slow the bleeding enough to keep him alive until they could get help. They'd had a hell of time getting him back to the truck, with John finally having to threaten to leave Sam behind if he didn't stop berating him every time Dean cried out in pain, because his father was jostling him. Didn't Sam realize that he was just as worried as him. He was Dean's father for fucking Christ's sake. No matter what Sam believed, John Winchester did love his sons.

He turned back to the road. The boys were so different in some ways. Dean was bolder and more outgoing on the surface. He could come off as cocky and unshakeable, but he felt things so deeply. The kid was brave and as loyal as they came and just a little needy, which John was ashamed to admit that he had used against him on occasion.

Sam, on the other hand, seemed calm and collected, but so did a damn duck on a pond. Wheels were always turning in Sam's mind, his emotions stirring up things, just like feet treading water. Sam was loyal to a point with most people, to that invisible point, where he felt cornered or betrayed. Then he could be as cold as his bastard of a father. Dean was the one exception. Sam didn't _need_ as much as he wanted, and wants could get you in a heap of trouble fast. John wanted lots of things. He looked at them again.

The pair was talking softly, but he couldn't make out what they were saying over the hum of the engine. It was probably just as well. He was sure Sam was trying to say anything to comfort Dean, and Dean was trying his damnedest to not let Sam down. He _needed_ to be there for Sam, almost as much as Sam _wanted_ him to be there. They were two halves of a whole. Mary had hoped that her sons would be close, real brothers. She had gotten at least one thing she had wished for.

He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes and straining to see through the rain which had started to fall. There was a part of their world that he was never included in, and probably never would be included in. As he made the turn onto the road that would take them away from the hospital, he was pretty sure he didn't deserve to be.

Chapter 4-Coming Soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Forgive Me

By: Ridley C. James

Chapter 4

Rating: T

Disclaimer: You guessed it, I still don't own anything Supernatural.

Author's notes: This chapter is a little short, and this story just keeps growing. I meant it as a one shot, two chapter deal at the most, but it has taken on a life of it's own. Hopefully, it will be finished soon, before it wears thin. Thanks as always for the reviews. And as always thanks to my writing partner, Will, who has been very patient while I exorcise this demon plot bunny.

"Where are we?" Sam had been so engrossed in waging the losing battle to keep his brother conscious that he hadn't been paying attention to the road. Dean was out of it now and they were no where near the hospital. In fact, it appeared that they were even farther from civilization and John had just shut the engine off.

"This is Bennett Scott's house. He was a friend of mine in the Marines, the guy I went to see in town today."

"You're visiting a buddy?" Sam was sure he was trapped in one of his many reoccurring nightmares, and his father was now the thing that was trying to pull him apart one piece at a time. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Dean mumbled something and shifted slightly against his brother, but didn't open his eyes. "Listen to me, Sam." John turned to look at his son. " Bennett was a medic in the service. He's a vet now. He'll be able to help Dean."

Sam's hold tightened on his brother. What was his father thinking. Dean had passed out from blood loss, he was having trouble breathing, and he hadn't stopped shivering sense they'd left the lodge. People died from less traumatic injuries. "You brought Dean to a veterinarian? He's not a fucking stray dog, he's your son!"

"Watch your mouth, young man." John shook his head in exasperation and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The 'F' word seemed to have become a permanent fixture in Sam's vocabulary since turning fifteen and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. He'd mentioned it once and Dean had ever so helpfully pointed out that it was one of John's favorite terms also.

"Veterinarians go to medical school too, you know."

Sam was not going to see reason. "To treat cows and horses, not people. Not my brother."

"Damn it, Sammy." John raked both his hands through his hair to keep them from around the youngest Winchester's throat. "Bennett has more first hand training in trauma and triage than any two- bit doctor we'll find at a hospital in the middle of Washington State."

John was tired of arguing with the boy, wasn't even sure why he had begun to in the first place. He was in charge damn it, and no fifteen year-old brat was going to tell him how to run his family.

John opened his door and got out, slamming it behind him. The rain was coming in hard sheets now. He strode around the Chevy and jerked Sam's door open. "Get out, now!"

Sam hesitated, so John grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him out, nearly slinging him to the ground to get him out of his way.

Sam could only watch helplessly as the oldest Winchester lifted his brother from the truck and started towards the small plank house in the distance. He was so angry that he had to bite his lip to keep the tears of frustration from falling. If he started crying now, he might not be able to stop. At that moment there was nothing he wanted more than to run as fast and far as he could to get away from his father and their fucked up life. Well, there was one thing he wanted more. _Dean. _So he was forced to silently follow John, his gaze burning a hole into the back of his father's head the whole way.

"Knock on the door." John was in full Marine mode now.

Sam grudgingly wrapped on the door, and then used his fist to pound on it when no one answered quickly enough to suit him. John took a deep breath and tried to think of something pleasant, like a nice cold beer and a good game of pool, or even better, a time when Sam would be past this adolescent phase. _Please, God, let it be a phase. _

Sam beat on the door again, this time adding his boot to the job.

Finally the door opened with a jerk and a bleary-eyed black man stepped into the porch light. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, with a dull blue terrycloth robe that had seen better days. The shotgun he held at the ready in his hand made it obvious that he wasn't happy his sleep had been interrupted.

He blinked, adjusting his eyes "John? What the hell?"

"Bennett, I'm sorry. My son is hurt."

Bennett Scott was use to folks pounding on his door in the middle of the night, but they were usually bringing him an injured dog, or sick cat, even a constipated turtle once, but he hadn't seen a bloodied body since his time in special ops. It wasn't something he'd ever hoped to see again. There was a reason he chose veterinary medicine over surgery.

"Come in." Bennett quickly stepped out of the way and motioned the other man into the house. Sam followed his father in and Scott closed the door behind them.

John was soaking wet and covered in blood, and so was the boy in his arms. The kid looked to be about eighteen and he was unconscious. There was another boy also. He was just as wet, and Bennett had to wonder if he was injured also, considering the gore covering him and the hurt expression on his youthful features. He'd seen combat soldiers come out of a mission gone bad looking better than these three did. "Bring him in here."

They walked through a short hall that led to another door, which when opened revealed a small exam room complete with metal tables and various machines. Bennett quickly grabbed a blanket and spread it over the cold-looking surface. "Put him here."

Dean moaned as his father laid him down and his eyes opened. "Sammy?" John stepped back, surprised that it hurt him when his son asked for his brother, instead of him. When exactly had that changed? Both his boys use to want him when they were sick or scared. He hadn't even realized that he missed that.

Sam moved around his father and into his brother's field of vision. "I'm here, Dean. You're okay."

Bennett couldn't help the slight amusement he felt as the other teenager with John nearly shoved him out of the way to get to the hurt boy. There was no doubt in his mind that the tall kid was also John's son.

"Where…?" Dean tried to lift his head to look around the room, but nothing wanted to seem to cooperate with him.

"We're at a friend of John's." Sam shot his father a quick look before turning back to his brother. "He's a doctor." No need to mention that he was a veterinarian, although if Dean pulled through this, his little brother would find all kinds of ways to rub it in.

"Good. I feel like shit." He shivered, and a slight gasp escaped him as his body seemed hell bent on betraying him. "It's…cold."

Dean knew that he sounded like a wimp at that moment, but damn it, he was freezing and the pain in his head and chest was consuming most of his bad boy energy.

Sam looked at the doctor/vet, who didn't seem to be intimidated by the look of contempt he was trying hard to convey. "He's cold." Didn't the man have anymore of those blankets.

Bennett ignored _John Jr_., instead focusing on the man he hadn't seen in almost twenty years until earlier today. "What happened?" Bennett had stepped forward now, running his trained gaze over Dean.

"He was stabbed, several times, and he has some broken ribs." John rubbed his hand across his mouth and beard, feeling more tired than he could remember. "It happened about thirty minutes ago, forty tops."

"Why didn't you take him to the hospital?"

Okay, so maybe this guy wasn't an idiot. Sam shot his father an 'I told you so' look but kept his mouth closed.

"I killed the bastard who did it." He met his old friend's gaze. "I'm not on the good behavior list with the Feds."

If Bennett was shocked, he didn't show it. Instead, he tightened his concentration on the examination of his patient.

"What's your name, son?"

"Dean."

He grabbed hold of Dean's T-shirt and ripped it open with one jerk of his hands. _Junior _glared at him even harder as his brother winced in pain. "Sorry, kid, but I need to see what's going on here."

"That was one of my favorite shirts," Dean told the man with a slight smile.

Bennett grinned back. He could tell that this one would be a handful. "Trust me, nothing could have saved it, kid." The vet pulled the roll-a-way overhead light closer to them, so that it showed directly on Dean's chest.

"You a Skynard fan?"

"Who…isn't."

Bennett sighed. The wounds were ragged and deep, and two of them were still bleeding heavily. Thankfully, most of the damage was on the right side, the heart shouldn't be a direct issue. "I met them once."

"No way," Dean winced as the man took hold of his jaw and turned his head so he could look at the cut above his eye.

"Hey, a black man can appreciate their sound. I'm a blues fan myself, and it ain't too far off." The cut on the kid's head was deep and there was a knot the size of a golf ball just to the right of it.

"You play anything?" Dean tried to tug his head away from the man's grip as he prodded at the edges of the wound. He felt Sam take hold of his hand, and was too grateful to rib his kid brother about it.

"Always…wanted…to play the guitar."

Bennett finally released the kid. "I play base. I'll show you my sweet girl when you're feeling better."

"Cool."

Sam watched as the man slowly studied his brother and talked to him as if they were here for a simple routine check up. He wasn't sure, but in every ER scene he'd watched in movies and on TV people worked faster and with more quick efficiency. Didn't the man know _bad_ when he saw it. He sighed and Dean turned to look at him, as if he could read his thoughts.

"Patience…Grasshopper."

A smile tugged at Sam's mouth and he squeezed his brother's hand, slightly worried with the fact that Dean hadn't actually said anything about him holding onto his hand.

He pushed away the thoughts of how bad off Dean must have been and watched as Bennett picked up an instrument and used it to probe the largest of the cuts on his brother's chest. Dean cried out and tried to turn away from the torture, rolling towards Sam.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled, and would probably have shoved the man had he not had to hold onto Dean to keep him from falling off the table. Okay, he'd had enough John's idea of an appropriate doctor.

"John," Bennett merely glanced at the oldest Winchester who moved roughly past Sam, pushing him out of the way. He nodded to the doctor and pinned a struggling Dean to the table.

Sam started to move back to his brother, but his father stopped him with a glare. "Stay there, Sam!" John hated to see either of his sons in pain, but if Bennett was going to save Dean's life it was a necessary evil.

Bennett moved onto the next wound and Dean's pain-filled screams had hot tears rolling down Sam's face. Sam didn't even bother to try and hide them. He didn't give a shit what his father would think. _God, this shouldn't be happening. _Normal families didn't do things like this.

"I don't think we have any bleeders." Bennett announced as if that were some justification for the suffering he'd just inflicted on his patient. "But I'm going to have to go in to repair some of the damage. I'll need your help."

Bennett didn't like asking his friend to do something as painful as assisting surgery on his own son, but there was no one else except for the other kid. And somehow he just didn't feel safe wielding a scalpel around the teen who looked very capable of killing him only moments ago.

Thankfully, the examination seemed to be over and Sam watched as his dad released Dean. His father's hands were shaking.

For a moment he felt bad for the man, even wanted to say something to comfort him, but then Dean said his name, and all thoughts of his father's pain fled.

"I'm still here." He stepped up to the table again.

His brother was pale and sweating, despite the fact he was still trembling from the cold. "Are… you…sure this guy is a doctor?"

Bennett raised a brow at John who only shrugged, as if he had no control over the situation.

"He's a vet, actually." Sam glanced up at the man, and then back to his brother.

"Dad brought me to Dr. Doolittle?" It was obvious to Sam that his brother was trying to block out the pain in his typical fashion. He wouldn't deny him that.

"Yep, he's still not convinced that Amos wasn't a werewolf." Sam leaned in closer, raking a hand through his brother's sweat-soaked hair. "He's expecting you to turn any minute."

Dean grinned. "I bet the ladies might dig that."

Before Sam could reply, Bennett had picked up a needle and was attempting to insert an IV in Dean's hand. "Is he allergic to anything?"

Bennett was waiting for John to answer but it was Sam who did. "Penicillin."

The doctor glanced at the kid, and continued his work. It struck him as odd that both of John's sons seemed use to this type of situation. John, who had seen much worse things in combat, should have been detached. But his boys appeared way too seasoned. And what the hell was this talk of werewolves?

Dean only flinched at the procedure, keeping his eyes on his kid brother. "Remember…that…time...I ..blew up like a balloon and looked like I had a hundred bee stings, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. He remembered things differently. "I remember _Dad _forgot to tell the nurse you were allergic and you nearly died."

Bennett finished the IV and attached it to the saline drip. He didn't miss the pained look on John's face. "Anything else I should know?" He had a feeling that his friend had not had an easy time of it with these two.

"The guy drugged him, but I don't know with what."

"Why didn't you say something?" John stepped closer to the bed, looking at Dean.

"He did," Sam replied heatedly. _He told me_.

"To you."

"How long were you unconscious?" Bennett pushed the sniping aside and focused on his patient.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and frowned. God, couldn't Sam and their dad drop it just for a little while. His head felt like it was going to explode. "'bout…an hour. Maybe…longer," he panted.

Bennett slid his hands down Dean's right side and felt along the rib cage. Dean jerked in pain. "Is the pain in your side sharp, crushing, or dull?"

"Is…that…a trick question?"

"Dean." John's voice held a warning.

"He said it felt like someone was sitting on his chest." John glared at Sam, who seemed unfazed.

Bennett nodded. "What about this wound to your head?" He took out his penlight and flashed it in the kid's eyes. Pupils were dilated, but equal.

"I…don't remember." All he knew was that it hurt like hell.

"You got a headache?"

"Yes." Sam answered, and John had taken all he could. "He kept saying his head was hurting him when we were in the truck."

John knew it was childish and irrational but he almost felt jealous of his own son.

"I think you should wait outside, Sam."

Dean felt a quick surge of panic rush through him at his father's words and he couldn't help himself as he tightened his hold on his brother.

Sam felt his brother's hold on him tighten ever so slightly and he just looked at their father. There was no way he was leaving.

"I said out!"

"Why?" Sam looked up incredulously at his father, not understanding what he'd done to piss the man off now, and why he was upsetting Dean.

"Just do what I tell you, Samuel."

"No." Dean's voice was strained and weak and it brought all eyes to him. "Stay…Sam." Dean hated to admit it, but he was pretty damn scared and the idea of not being able to see his brother in case the worst happened had him finding it harder and harder to breathe.

"Take it easy, son." Bennett pulled out his stethoscope and placed it against Dean's chest. "Just try and breathe nice and slow, shallow breaths."

The doctor glanced up at John. "We need to do this. I don't want to risk a lung collapsing. I'm not prepared for that here."

"Is he going to be alright?" Sam didn't like the look on the vets face. It was the first time the dark man had even hinted at looking concerned.

"What blood type is he?" This time Bennett asked Sam the question, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by John.

"B-negative."

"Damn," Bennett cursed. The kid would have to have a rare one. B-negatives could only take the same or O-negative, none of which he had.

"He's the same as mine, and my mom's." Sam held the man's gaze. "I want to help."

John raked his hands through his hair. He hadn't even remembered the fact that the boys were both a rare type. God, what was wrong with him.

"I'll need you to give a few pints."

"Anything." Sam meant it. At that moment, he'd have given a kidney, a lung, anything to make Dean better.

"John, you and I need to scrub up." Bennett looked at Sam. "You keep an eye on him."

John looked at his sons and hesitated for a moment, but then followed the vet into another small room off to the back of the exam room.

"How you doing?" Sam leaned closer to Dean once the others were gone.

"You…know…that big Russian guy on the Rocky movie we watched last week?"

Sam nodded. "I feel like I just went a few rounds too many with him."

"Nah, you could have taken him." In fact, Dean had bragged that he could have kicked the man's ass when they'd watched the show, and his little brother had believed him.

Dean rolled his eyes. "When are you going to realize I'm full of it, Sammy?" Sometimes Sam's faith in him was down right scary.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Dean."

Dean turned his head a little too quickly to look at the other teen and his harsh intake of breath had _that_ look reappearing on his brother's face again. Damn his body. "This isn't your fault, Sam."

"If I hadn't been so focused on proving Dad wrong, I might have seen it earlier." After all, he'd read the article about Jenny on their first day into town.

Dean sighed. They'd already been down this road in the truck. "Sam."

When his brother didn't say anything, but only continued to stare at him like he could vanish at any moment. He forced a smile onto his face. "I thought we already agreed that this was all Dad's fault?"

Sam couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. Dean always knew just what to say to keep the monsters at bay. "Right, I forgot." He leaned over the bed his forehead resting against his brother's and closed his eyes. "I love you, man."

Dean swallowed hard, trying to keep the pain and his emotions in check. "Ditto, little brother. Ditto."

Chapter 5 coming soon


	5. Chapter 5

Forgive Me

By: Ridley C. James

Chapter 5-Conclusion

Rating: T

Author's notes: I am so appreciative to everyone who took the time to write me about this story. I know I've said it before but Reviews really are food for the muse, and mine has been living high on the hog, as my granny use to say. Thanks! So Much! -_Ridley_

"_Happy families are alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." -Tolstoy_

Sam Winchester watched as a final handful of dirt was thrown onto the casket that had been lowered into the ground just moments before and ducked his head as he felt the hot tears slide onto his wind stung cheeks.

This shouldn't be happening.

John was standing off to his right, looking solemn as usual. His thick dark hair was being tossed around in the wind and his hands were folded behind his back. He had his head bowed as the preacher prayed, but his brown eyes were open, staring unseeingly at the ground.

Sam never understood why people closed their eyes when they talked to God. Didn't they want to see Him, just in case? Maybe it was because they were scared of what they _would_ see. That had to be it, because his father wasn't afraid of anything.

Sam kept his eyes wide open as the preacher continued to speak in a hushed tone. He'd never been to a funeral before, not one he could remember anyway, and he didn't want to miss anything.

His mother was the only person that he had really known that had died, and he'd been just a baby when she had been buried, so it wasn't really like he _knew_ her at all. In all honesty, he didn't quite understand the concept of it. _Loss_. It was such a big and scary word to have so few letters. Four. It had four letters and it was what the preacher had talked about through the whole service.

_Loss._

Sam might not have been sure of what it was, but he could feel it surrounding him, making it hard to breathe, making it impossible to feel safe, or warm.

The reverend finished and people began to cry harder. Sam cried harder too.

His father gave him a disapproving glance out of the corner of his eye, but he felt his brother's arm slide across his small shoulders and pull him in close to his side, and Sam knew it'd be alright.

Once the people started to disperse, John stepped closer to where they were and bent down in front of Sam and his brother. "I've got to stay here until everyone leaves. Then I'll salt and burn the body and we'll go get some dinner, okay, guys?"

Sam turned his gaze to the graveside where a little girl and a woman still stood. The little girl had long blond hair and when the wind blew it looked like the waving wheat fields that he and his family had passed through in some state that Sam couldn't quite remember the name of. She had a white flower gripped tightly in her small hand, which she tossed into the big hole before she turned and walked away, her yellow hair flowing behind her.

"Did you hear me, Sam?" John's stern voice had his five year-old son focusing on him once more. "You listen to your brother and don't get into any trouble. We don't need any attention drawn to us."

Sam nodded. "I'll be good, Daddy."

John stood and walked away leaving his sons to take themselves back to the truck that he had parked on the other side of the graveyard.

"Let's go, Sammy." Nine year-old Dean Winchester reached down and took hold of his brother's hand, noticing with a grimace how cold the tiny fingers were. He'd have to get Sam some gloves the next time they were in a Wal-mart. The big stores were always easier to steal from.

When Sam didn't move along with him, he sighed, and stooped down so that he was eye level with his kid brother. "Sam, let's go to the truck where it's warm. You're going to catch a cold."

Sam's big brown eyes were still staring at the plot of earth where the coffin had gone into. A single tear escaped the long lashes it had been trapped among and zigzagged down the little boy's red cheeks.

"Sammy, why are you crying?" Dean reached up and turned the solemn face towards him. He gently brushed the offending moisture away with his thumb, and studied his brother's face. "You didn't even know those people."

"They were so sad," he said, as if that explained everything. Sam had never seen anyone so sad before. He'd seen people angry and frustrated, and happy, but never so sad, unless he counted his daddy. Sometimes his daddy looked very, very sad, but then he'd just get really mad. Sam didn't like it, not one bit.

"That's because someone they love just died." Dean glanced towards the grave and then back to his brother. "Someone in their family." The older Winchester could remember all too well what that was like. Sometimes his heart still hurt when he thought about his mom.

When the wind picked up again, Dean reached out to tighten Sammy's coat around him. "People get really sad around death."

"Not, Daddy. He gets mad. Daddy likes to kill things."

Dean sighed. He wasn't sure how to explain to a five year-old what exactly it was that their father did. He was almost ten, nearly twice Sammy's age, and he wasn't sure he understood it himself. "Not always. It's just that sometimes when someone dies in a really bad way or when they were really bad when they were alive, then they can't rest really well. So, they hang around causing a lot of problems."

"Like that bad ghost that pushed me down the well."

Dean nodded, grimly. "Yeah, like that one."

"Will that little girl's daddy come back as a mean ghost?" Sam stared off into the distance at the crowd of mourners still moving like a dark wave towards the line of parked cars around them.

It took Dean a moment to follow his brother's train of thought, but then he recalled the little blond girl whohad looked to be about Sam's age. Shehad cried during the whole service. "If Dad doesn't stop him, probably."

"Was he a bad man?"

"Yes." Dean had heard his father on the phone with someone talking about the things that Wilburn Meadows had done. His father had thought him possessed. Maybe that little girl was crying with relief that her tormentor was gone.

"Dean, did Daddy kill that man?"

Dean swallowed hard, remembering his father running the ceremonial knife through the creature's heart. Thankfully, Sammy had been in the truck asleep, but Dean had seen everything as he stood guard over his little brother.

He looked into Sam's eyes. "Dad did what he had to do, Sam. He saved that little girl, a bunch of other little girls, too." Dean didn't know that for sure, but he had to believe what he was saying was true, not only for Sam, but for himself. "He's a hero."

Sam didn't appear too convinced, but he nodded in agreement just the same. "Does everybody die, Dean?"

The question caught him off guard, and the pained expression on his little brother's face felt like a quick punch in the stomach. He shouldn't lie to Sam, wouldn't lie to him. "Yeah, Sammy, they do."

Tears suddenly filled the large brown eyes again. "I don't want you to die, Dean. Please, don't die."

Sam was sure he didn't ever want to feel the way that he sensed those around him were feeling today. He didn't want Loss to find him.

Sam didn't want his daddy or his brother to be put in a large hole in the ground where he could never talk to them or hug them or ever see them again. That just couldn't happen.

Before Dean could come up with a reply to the distraught plea, he found his arms full with Sam's shivering little body. The five year-old clung to the older boy, burying his face into Dean's shoulder. "Promise me you won't die, Dean. Not ever. Promise you won't leave me."

Dean hugged the little boy tightly, looking up at the dark cloud-covered sky above them, and did the only thing a big brother could do. "I won't, Sammy. Not ever. I promise."

"You promised." The whispered words were almost subconscious as Sam traced small circles with his finger on Bennett's kitchen table. "You promised, Dean."

He wasn't really sure why the memory had sprung to his mind, but the image of his first funeral wasn't something he really wanted to recall while his brother was having surgery.

Maybe it was the fact that Dean had never lied to him before then. Even as a little kid, a part of Sam had known his brother wasn't telling him the truth. But, at the time, it had been all that Sam had wanted to hear.

In fact, ten years hadn't changed things a whole hell of a lot.

The last thing he'd said to Dean before his father and Bennett had returned to the examination room was, "Please don't die, Dean."

It had surprised him that he'd actually spoken the words out loud, and Dean's reply shocked him even more. "I won't, Sammy. I promise."

Then he'd given the blood that Dean had needed for the surgery and his father had exiled him to the kitchen. Sam glanced up to the clock on the wall. He had now been waiting for almost an hour.

When he heard the door to the exam room finally open, Sam nearly knocked over the chair in his haste to stand up.

His father stepped out looking tired and older than he had ever remembered seeing him. There was a moment of vulnerability on his hard features, but when he raised his head and saw Sam watching him, the look vanished and he motioned for his son to stay there.

Sam watched as he pulled the door shut and started walking down the short hallway separating them.

"Is Dean alright?" The words tumbled out as soon as John stepped into the small dining area. "Did the surgery go okay?"

John was still wearing scrubs and they were splattered with blood, a sight that caused Sam's already nervous stomach to do flips. His father's face was grim, but he nodded his head, and walked past Sam straight to the coffee pot on the counter. "He's fine. Bennett is finishing up, and then you can go in and see him."

_Like I need your permission._ Sam knew he was being childish, but the sight of his father was not a comfort at the moment, but more of a catalyst for all the emotions he'd been fighting for the last three hours.

John took a drink of the strong brew that Bennett had probably made earlier in the evening and not for the first time that night wished it had been something much, much stronger. Like whiskey, or tequila, or at this point a beer would have sufficed. The look on Sam's face made him long for anything that would deaden his overtaxed nerves.

"You're brother is tough. He'll be up around in no time."

"So you can have him out hunting the next evil thing on your list."

John ignored the jab, and took a chair. He eased his tall frame into it, taking another drink of the coffee, so he wouldn't say anything he would regret later. Sam looked like hell, and he was pretty sure the kid was about to reach his breaking point. He'd seen the familiar storm brewing for days.

"He could have died." The picture of that crazed lunatic stabbing his brother was permanently etched in his memory.

Dark eyes lifted and held Sam's accusing gaze. "But he didn't."

Sam couldn't believe the nerve of the man. "Am I suppose to be grateful to you for that. Is Dean?"

"The gratitude should probably start with Bennett."

"Dean wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for you. For this hunt." Sam wouldn't have been here either, wondering if his brother was going to live or die.

God, John was tired. Tired of fighting, of hunting. He was so sick of not knowing what he should be doing, and then having his face rubbed in the fact that he had indeed failed so miserably.

"I know you have a problem with me, Sam. I get it!" His voice rose despite the fact he was trying his best to remain calm. "There's no way I could miss it! You're pissed at how our lives are. You hate what I do, what we do as a family. But that's just the way things are, son."

"Things are the way _you_ want them to be. You don't care that I should be in school or that Dean should be in college or that we should have a house and a yard and a dog." Sam could feel himself shaking, the anger and frustration bubbling to the surface.

"You think I don't want those things for you and your brother. You think I dreamed about your lives, _our_ lives, turning out like this." John waved a hand around the room, gesturing to the situation more than their surroundings. "I do what I have to do to keep you and your brother safe, and yes, I'm proud that we help other people along the way to finding out the truth."

"Truth?", Sam spat. There it was again. The word tasted dirty in his mouth. Sam had really begun to hate the sound of it.

It had become his father's mistress and he courted it with every fiber of his being, giving his beloved _truth_ every bit of himself and his energy until there was nothing left for anyone else.

"The _truth_ is that you put your sons in danger everyday. You risk our lives for what? Revenge? Nothing you do will bring Mom back. Nothing! But you're going to get one of us or yourself killed. Then what will be left of our family?"

John stood and in a rush of anger threw his coffee cup against the wall, it shattered sending coffee and shards of glass scattering across the floor. Sam flinched and a cold realization settled in. Dean wasn't there to protect him. He'd never realized until that moment just how much his brother's presence kept them both stable.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Bennett had just finished bandaging the last of Dean's wounds when he'd heard the shouting then the crash that followed. Knowing what the infamous Winchester temper was capable of, he quickly left his sleeping patient to find the rest of the dynamic trio before they wrecked his house.

John and Sam both turned to look at the veterinarian, but neither spoke. "If you didn't like the coffee, you could have just told me" He motioned to the mess. "I could have made some more. Maybe decaf."

John raked both hands threw his hair and glanced at Sam before silently turning and storming out the back door and into the pouring rain.

Sam started to follow, but Bennett grabbed his arm. "Give him time to cool off, boy." When dark eyes glared at him, the doctor jerked his head towards the hallway. "I know someone who needs you more."

"He looks so pale." Sam reached out and laid his hand against Dean's bruised cheek. It was like ice to the touch.

Bennett nodded, pulling another blanket from a cabinet and carefully draping it over Dean. "Blood loss will do that. When he wakes up, we'll move him to the guest room. It'll be warmer in there."

"So he's going to be okay?"

Bennett stared at the kid, not quite able to make out exactly what emotion he saw swirling in those dark eyes, so much like John's. "Your brother is one tough kid. I have a feeling he'll be back to chasing the ladies in no time."

Sam smiled. "He'll be glad to hear that."

"What about you, you got a girlfriend?" Bennett turned and started working on cleaning his instruments and putting them away.

"No." Sam pulled a stool next to his brother's bed and sat down. He picked up Dean's cold hand, the one free of the IV, and held it. "We move around too much."

"That must be tough." Bennett cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "I guess you don't get to make too many friends either?"

"No." When Sam did get to go to one school for an extended period of time he found it pointless to invest in getting to know someone. Besides, by the time he was no longer the freaky new boy, he was leaving.

"How about sports? Do either of you boys play?"

"Dean played T-ball. I've seen the pictures." Sam watched his brother's chest move up and down, allowing it to calm his frazzled nerves. "I always thought I'd like basketball."

"You're tall enough." Bennett laughed. "But can you jump?"

Sam shrugged and felt his eyes growing heavy as he stifled a yawn. "I can fight. I'm really good at that."

Bennett looked surprised and stopped what he was doing. "Fight? Like boxing?" For some reason Sam didn't really strike him as a scrapper.

Sam shrugged. "Boxing, kick boxing, Karate, anything hand to hand, and I got it covered."

"You don't say?" Bennett knew that the old John Winchester, sharp shooter extraordinaire, was one of the most efficient killers he'd ever seen work, but Sam was just a kid. Surely his old friend didn't train his sons in the dark arts.

"I can shoot too." Sam glanced up at him as if he could read his thoughts. "Rifle, pistol, machine gun, bow, not to mention throwing stars, and even swords. If it was meant to kill something, I can handle it."

Bennett's frown deepened. He'd never allowed his own son to eventouch a weapon. "That's not really something you see a call for in many schools or team sporting events these days."

"Not unless it's a school for mercenaries." The teen turned his gaze back to his unconscious brother. "But there aren't too many of those around."

"No, I guess not." Bennett shook his head to remove the mental image that Sam had just given him and went back to his cleaning. He supposed that Sam's talents were shared by his brother and that would explain the numerous, curious, scars he'd noticed on Dean.

Bennett cleared his throat. "What else do you like to do, Sam?"

"I like to read." Sam leaned his head over onto the table and let his forehead rest against Dean's arm. "I like to research stuff, figure out how things fit together. I like history and mythology."

"That sounds like my son. He's a big shot lawyer in Washington D.C." Bennett couldn't keep the pride out of his voice. "He fights for the little man, you know. Taking on big corporations and conglomerates who think they can run the world just because they control the almighty dollar." Bennett turned back to look at the teen. "Maybe you could go to law school."

Sam lifted his head and his eyes brightened just a little. "I want to go to college."

"Then that's what you should do. There's plenty of scholarships out there if a man is willing to work hard enough for them."

Scholarships only worked if you were in high school to get them. Sam rested his chin on his free hand and sighed. "Sometimes wanting something doesn't make it happen."

Bennett shrugged and put the last of his instruments away. "I don't know about that." He walked past Sam and squeezed his shoulder. "Maybe it just depends on how badly you want it."

When the teen looked up at him, Bennett glanced towards Dean. "And what you're willing to sacrifice to get it."

Sam watched the man go, and then turned back to rest his head once more. He would sacrifice a lot to be normal. As he grew older, he was more sure of that everyday. Maybe he was willing to sacrifice as much for his own freedom as his father was willing to sacrifice for his freedom from guilt. Maybe, _he_ was even willing to sacrifice his family.

Dean shifted in his sleep and a soft moan filled the silence. He mumbled Sam's name, but didn't open his eyes or awaken. Sam squeezed his hand. "I'm here, Dean." And suddenly, the thought of leaving his big brother for a normal life fled his mind as quickly and quietly as it had entered.

"Here. I thought you could use these." Bennett found John in the barn out behind the house. He was sitting on a stack of hay in one of the empty horse stalls, still dripping wet from his time spent cooling off in the rain.

The veterinarian handed him a towel and a heavy overcoat and then smiled as he held up a thermos. "This baby is shatterproof."

John snorted, and shook his head. "Sorry about the mess."

Bennett took a seat on the hay stack beside his friend and laughed. "You think you're the first one to put a dent in that wall. Back when Tyler was a teenager, I think I had stock in stucco."

John opened the thermos and filled the lid to the brim. "Dean alright?"

"Yeah, Sam's sitting with him."

"Right." John took a drink of the coffee, enjoying the oddly comforting burning sensation as it went down.

"Those two are pretty close?"

John nodded. "Oh yeah." He glanced at his old buddy. "It's been that way since their mom died." An image of Dean sitting in Sam's crib, protectively holding his baby brother flashed unbidden to his mind.

"Hell, it might have started in the womb. Dean was so damn excited to have a baby brother. He started asking for one his second Christmas, and that was all he could talk about the whole time Mary was pregnant."

John raked a hand through his hair and sighed. Things had been so different then. "Mary was so afraid that Sam was going to be a _Samantha_. I think she thought Dean just might be heartbroken if that happened. But Dean never had any doubts, he even picked the name out. It was from some book his mom had read to him."

"You seem to have done a good job with them."

John nearly choked on his coffee. "Did you _meet_ my son, Sam?"

Bennett laughed. "Seems to me he's a lot like his old man."

"God, don't let him here you say that, Bennett." John sighed. "Actually, he's a lot like his mom. He's sensitive and kind, and sometimes too honest for his own damn good. Maybe he did get all his bad qualities from me, but believe me, there aren't many of those."

As Bennett listened to John talk about his kids, he had no doubt the man adored his boys, but he had to wonder at the circumstances that apparently surrounded the small family. Something just didn't add up. "I can't imagine being a single parent, man. I had hard enough time with Sarah to back me up. When we divorced, Tyler was already out of high school."

"Mary and I had so many plans for them. I screwed most of them up." He took another drink of the bitter brew, hoping it would dissolve the lump that had lodged painfully in his throat. "They deserved a lot better than what they got stuck with."

"Look, Johnnie, I don't know what you've got going on now," he was pretty sure he didn't want to know, "or what you've been doing these last fifteen years, but I do know that you love your sons. That much is obvious, and you're still with them. You're hanging in there. You didn't eat a bullet when Mary died." If Bennett were honest, that was exactly what he had expected the man to do when he had learned of the tragic accident. "And you didn't drink yourself into oblivion. A lot of lesser men would have."

"Oh, I drank." A rush of memories flooded through John's mind. "More than I should have."

John glared at the other man, anger filling his features, but the wrath was all directed inward. "Don't rush to put me on some pedestal, Ben. Honestly, Dean raised Sam. And as to who raised Dean? Well, let's just say that he was five going on thirty. He grew up in the instant that I placed his little brother in his arms and told him to run out of our burning house." John shook his head. "Maybe the father in me died in that fire with Mary."

"No way." Bennett shook his head. "The man I saw in there tonight was a father."

Bennett remembered how upset John had been. His hands were shaking so badly, he hadn't been a whole helluva lot of help during the surgery.

Despite Dean's bravado, the kid had been scared when it came to going under. John had kidded with him, and then comforted him with the tenderness only a parent could offer. "You did what you had to do to save your son. I'm guessing that's what you've been trying to do all along."

"Maybe." John stared at the dirt floor. "But, I'm afraid that I'm going to fail them, and it will cost them their lives. I don't know if I can keep doing things the way I have been. I'm going to lose them one way or another. I can sense it." He lifted his gaze to Bennett once more. "I have nightmares about it."

The vet could almost feel the pain radiating off the other man. He wished he was better with words, although men didn't usually find the need for them much. A good swift kick in the ass was usually the preferred technique.

"You're only human, John."

"So are they." John rubbed a hand over his beard. "Sometimes I think I forget that they're still kids. Kids who have every reason to hate their own father."

"I don't think those boys hate you, John."

"_Again_, have you met my son, Sam?"

Bennett smiled. "He doesn't hate you. Well, maybe he does a little right now. But, most teens hate their parents at some point. I'd be more concerned if he was all roses and sweetness."

John laughed, but the sound that he made echoed more of hurt than joy. "He use to be so sweet. _God_, he was a cute kid. I couldn't hardly say no to anything he wanted. I swear sometimes I think Dean was more strict than I was."

"He'll be that way again, Johnnie. He's just trying to find his own way to being the man he wants to be."

John tilted his head and smirked at the other man. "You took Psych classes in medical school, didn't you?"

"Hey, they were required," Bennett defended. "Besides, they kind of came in handy when I was trying to manipulate Tyler into doing something he didn't want to do."

"How's Tyler doing?" John asked, slightly relieved to be talking about something half way normal for a change.

"He's good. Lives in D.C. Works as a lawyer there."

"You must be real proud."

Bennett smiled. "I am." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at John. "Sam tells me that he wants to go to school."

So , his old pal wasn't going to let it go. "School isn't all its cracked up to be." John felt an old familiar guilt rising to the surface. "Both my boys are smart. I've made sure they've kept up with reading and writing, and anything else that they are suppose to have. Dean graduated last May, and anytime we're in one place for a while, I put Sam in school."

Bennett held up his hands in mock surrender. "Easy, big guy. That wasn't an accusation. I was talking about college."

John raised an eyebrow at his friend. " College is a long ways off."

"Seems to me it's already on the boy's mind."

The oldest Winchester shook his head. If Sam went to college, it would be hard, almost impossible, to protect him. "He's always got something on his mind. Last week he wanted to be a stunt car driver." _Or, was that last year?_ God, how the time flew.

"I'm just saying that maybe that could be something you two could work on together. Kind of like a bonding thing, you know?"

"Couldn't we just work on a car? I'm good at that."

Bennett laughed. "I think you could get away with that with Dean, but something tells me Sam is going to make you work just a little bit harder."

"Yeah." John took a deep breath and let it out nice and slow. Bennett didn't know the half of it. "Sam is going to be very, very, hard."

"This bed is way too hard," Dean complained for about the twentieth time since being moved into Bennett's son's old room.

He was making a quick recovery and Sam was sure that thier dad would be itching to get back on the road as soon as possible, especially since old man Hayes' body had been discovered the day before.

Sam glanced at his brother and then went back to studying the chess board in front of him. "You're stalling."

"Am not." Dean grumbled and gingerly leaned forward. His hand went to his injured chest, and if Sam hadn't recognized the move for the sympathy ploy that it was, he might have felt bad. Dean painstakingly moved his piece, taking great satisfaction in saying, "Check."

Sam bit his lip to keep from smiling. His brother had fallen so predictably into the trap he had laid out for him. "Sorry, Bro." He took Dean's queen. "Check Mate."

Dean fell back against the pillows, not even flinching from the impact. "I hate this game."

Sam laughed. "I know Monopoly is more your speed, maybe even Candy Land, but this is all I found in the closet."

Dean looked around the room where he'd spent the last two days. There were shelves of books and magazines, but he'd yet to find any Sports Illustrated or anything with scantily clothedwomen in it. "Man, his kid must have been a geek."

Sam looked offended. "He's a lawyer in Washington, D.C. Bennett said he was top in his class at Stanford."

"Like I said," Dean sighed, moving around to get more comfortable, "a geek."

"Would you think I was a geek if I wanted to go to Stanford?"

Dean grinned. "I think you're a geek now, Sammy."

"Sam," the fifteen year-old growled. Now that his brother was back to him old self and the threat had passed, the nickname had to go. "And I'm being serious."

"Why would you want to go to school if you didn't have to?"

"To get an education, to get a career."

"Your brain's almost too big for your head now, Sam. And you've got a job. You're a hunter."

"Is that all you ever want to be." Sam dumped the game pieces back into the wooden box he'd found them in. "Don't you want to go to school.? You could study science. You always liked chemistry."

Dean shrugged. "I like what we do now. Besides, it's not like Dad's going to be too keen on me up and deciding to go to school."

"Who cares? You're nineteen, man. You can get out." God, Sam only dreamed of being eighteen. Didn't his brother realize he had a one way ticket to freedom.

Dean looked confused. "Leave? Just ditch you and Dad?"

"It wouldn't be like you were abandoning us. In fact, I could come with you." The more Sam thought about it, the better it sounded. "We could get an apartment, and I could get a part time job and go to school…and…"

Dean held up a hand to stop his brother. "Whoa, Sam. To begin with, there's no way Dad's going to go for me going off to school, and even if he did, there would be no way in hell that he'd let me take you with me." That would definitely be a deal breaker for Dean.

Sam hadn't really thought it through far enough to realize that Dean might not want him to come. "If you wanted to go by yourself then…"

"Did you just hear what I said, brainiac?" Dean couldn't believe his brother would think he'd just ditch him. "Dad is your _Parent_, which means he gets to say what you do and where you go, at least for a few more years. I don't have any say in the matter, Sammy." The argument with his father at the lodge was all to painfully fresh in Dean's mind.

It wasn't right. Dean was the one Sam remembered taking care of him when he was little. It was Dean who quieted his childish fears and who was always there now, when Sam needed to vent or just wanted company. Dean had signed his grade cards and the few and far between field trip forms. His brother had picked his clothes out, fixed his lunches, and even tucked him in at night, which was kind of embarrassing to think about now. But, nonetheless it was true. Wasn't that what a _Parent_ did?

"I'd go with you." Sam hadn't worked all the details out, but he was certain of that one thing. If Dean wanted him, he'd be there. "Dad won't stop me."

"Sam," Dean's voice softened, at the determined look on his kid brother's face. "Don't get all worked up here. I'm not planning on going anywhere. College isn't something I'm really into right now. I want things to stay the way they are. We're all together, a family. That's how it should be."

Sam frowned. His brother really didn't get it. If he stayed where he was, Dean could end up dead. Sam was almost willing to be left behind if it meant at least one of them got out ofthe hell that they lived in. "Do you really want to hunt bad things for the rest of your life?"

"I prefer to look at it as ridding the world of evil to make the universe a safer place for all mankind. Kind of like Superman."

"Superman?" Sam almost laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Hey, I could pull off the tights. I have been told, on many occasions, that I have a great ass."

Sam shook his head. "I could have done without the image of you and your _assets_ in tights, thank you." He picked up the pillow that the chest board had been resting on and tossed it at his brother. "Besides, we both know you just like killing things."

Dean caught the flying object with only a slight grimace of pain. "I do enjoy a good toasting of bones every now and then." He launched it back at his brother.

"You're a freak, man." Sam ducked and the pillow sailed past his head and onto the nightstand where it knocked some dishes from their previous night's dinner onto the floor.

They didn't break, but the crash was impressive. Both boys paled slightly as the door to their room opened and John Winchester stalked in. "What in the hell is going on in here?"

Dean and Sam looked at each other and then Sam glanced at their father. "Sorry. I must have fallen asleep and fell out of bed."

Dean had been right back at the lodge. The lame excuse sounded especially stupid coming out of Sam's mouth.

John rolled his eyes, but decided he wasn't going to be goaded into an angry mood today. After all, he was turning over a new leaf. "Just make sure you clean it up. Bennett is going to start charging us for room service, not to mention keeping the damage deposit."

"I'm injured." Dean looked at his brother. "That means you have dish detail."

"So what else is new."

"Well, this for one." Both boys looked at John as he pulled a brightly wrapped package from a bag he was holding. "I know it's late, Ace, but Happy Birthday." He handed the gift to Dean, who, for a moment, looked too stunned to take it. Finally he smiled and grabbed the box.

"Cool. Presents."

Sam shook his head at his brother's childish enthusiasm. "Amazing how quickly you've recovered."

"You're just jealous." Dean waggled his eyebrows. "It's not your birthday."

"Technically, that's true." John pulled another present out of his bag and tossed it to Sam. "But considering my tendency to forget things, I thought I better cover my bases."

Sam caught the present and looked even more surprised than his brother had.

"Thanks, Dad." Dean held up the new Walkman, complete with several cassettes. "I think my other one was a lost cause."

"The guy at the store said I should go for something called a CD player, but I figured with your collection of tapes, you'd be better off with the old school one."

"Good call." Dean grinned and tore into the Poison cassette.

"Are you going to open yours, or are you waiting for Christmas?"

Sam shrugged and tore off the paper. He couldn't really recall the last time that his father had brought him a birthday present. It must have been around five years ago. Dean always picked up the slack though.

What he found had him shooting his father a very confused look. Three books lay nestled in the wrappings. One was a study guide for the SAT, another for the ACT, and the third was a huge one on Ivy League schools. "I don't understand."

It was John's turn to act nonchalant. "Bennett mentioned you were interested in college. The lady at the bookstore said it was never too early to start studying for the entrance exams. If you score high enough on one of those tests, you could get a full ride."

"I'm not sure what to say." Sam wasn't sure what he expected but this definitely wasn't it.

"Thank you is the polite thing." Dean elbowed his brother. "Of course you could always yell it at him if it makes you feel more comfortable."

"Bite me." Sam nudged him back and then looked at his father. "Thanks, Dad. It means a lot."

"I'm not finished." John handed the bag over to Dean, who nearly destroyed it pulling out what was left inside.

"Swim trunks?" He held up two pairs of blue and black shorts. "Uh, Dad, I hate to sound ungrateful, but it's like November and we're in upper Washington State where the sun never shines."

John nodded. "True." He sat down on the edge of the bed and eyed both his sons. "But I thought we might drive down to California, go out to LA, where the sun always shines. Spend some time at the beach just hanging out."

"Like for a vacation?" Dean was not believing his ears. Not once had they ever gone on an _official_ vacation.

"Who _are_ you and what have you done with our father?" Sam was sure that a pod person was sitting with them in the room.

John sighed, meeting his youngest son's doubtful gaze. "I just thought that we'd take some down time, give your brother time to recuperate. That is what you wanted right?"

Sam blinked again. Of course that's what he wanted. "Are you serious?"

Dean smiled. "Girls in bikinis. That's my kind of medicine, dude."

"We could go to Disneyland."

Dean reached up and smacked his brother on the back of the head. "What are you, five?"

"Hey, I've never been there, and not all the rides are for kids."

"You just want to meet Mickey, admit it." Dean laughed. "You use to say he was your hero."

A disgusted look filled Sam's face. "At least I don't fantasize about prancing around in tights and a cape."

"So, we'll hit the road tomorrow at 5:00 AM sharp, boys." John rose from the bed, although neither of his sons seemed to notice. "Don't stay up late discussing the trip."

Sam and Dean continued to argue back and forth, the comments growing more derogatory as they went. John shook his head and decided it was best to slip out while he could.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, a slight smile tugging at his mouth as he heard the almost childlike laughter coming from inside. Maybe that psychology stuff did work.

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Sometimes the truth was overrated. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.

It was still there.

He could feel the piece of paper he'd written on just that morning, and his fingers closed around it like a lifeline. Taking it out, he carefully unfolded it and silently read his own neat penmanship.

**Burbank, CA**

**Local woman dies in house fire. Husband makes wild claims of vengeful spirits. One child lost, one rescued. Second incident involving fire in the last two months. **

John folded the paper once more, sliding it into his shirt pocket. He let his hand linger over his heart, and leaned his head back against the door. "Forgive me, boys." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, blocking out the image of the man he'd become. "Please forgive me."

The End


End file.
